Dog with a Bone
by BoomerCat
Summary: Scott didn't get the memo


_Author's note: My very first experiences with writing fan fic were in the Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea fandom, and although I have moved on, that fandom will always hold a special place in my heart._

Feeling good was something that Scott Tracy treasured. Since his family had started operating their top secret rescue organization, International Rescue, Scott had come to understand what a gift it was to wake up in the morning unbruised and worry-free.

But today was one of those days. The rescue three days ago had been one of their more spectacular successes. Against all expectations, a schoolroom full of kids had been rescued with no loss of life. And there was an added bonus: Scott and his brothers had all come through it without a scratch.

As he walked down the hallway of his island home, he could smell the warm scent of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls. The smile on his face was genuine as he headed for the kitchen, and breakfast.

Rounding a corner, he ran into Brains, family friend, and resident genius. "Sorry. You okay there, Brains?"

The slight scientist looked harried. His hands fluttered as he brushed off his lab coat. He had a furtive look on his face as he whispered. "No harm done, uh, Scott. You haven't seen me. All right? You just haven't seen me."

Scott's eyebrows climbed up on his forehead as the man scurried away. He wondered what that was all about. As Brains disappeared down the corridor, Scott mentally shrugged, and continued on into the kitchen.

He was mildly surprised to find that except for his grandmother, the room was empty. Scott moved to the coffee pot and, pouring himself a cup, said, "Morning, Grandma. Where is everybody?"

"Well I was just about to ask you the same thing. I was beginning to think the dinner bell wasn't working," The elderly woman replied.

The dinner bell she was referring to was actually a soft tone that sounded throughout the house, laboratories and hangars of International Rescue's base at the touch of a button. His brother John always called it Pavlov's Bell because whenever Grandma hit the button, the drooling horde of Tracys all came running.

"No, ma'am, I heard it just fine. These look good." Scott helped himself to a couple of cinnamon rolls.

"Now, you save some for your father and brothers. I'll have your bacon and eggs ready in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

Privately Scott thought the rule should be first come, first served, but he was wise enough not to raise his grandmother's ire by saying anything out loud. He'd just taken a large bite when the door from the hallway burst open and his father strode in.

The elder Tracy made a beeline to the coffee pot, and poured a large mug. He grabbed a couple of rolls, and without a word, headed out the door. "Jefferson Tracy, you stop this very moment! What do you mean by snatching up my good food without so much as a fare-the-well?"

Flinching at the tone, Jeff turned back to his mother. "Sorry, Mom, I just have uh, something very important to do. I've got to run."

"Well at least let me make you a plate of eggs."

"Uh, no time, Mom. Thanks. These rolls will tide me over."

Scott swallowed the bite of roll and asked, "Dad, what is it? Can I help you with it?"

"No, son. I'll see you both later." With that, he was gone.

"Well, I never." Ruth stood with a frown on her face.

"I guess it's something catching, Grandma. I ran into Brains in the hall, and he was in a big hurry too."

Grandma shook her head, but before she could say anything, the door burst open again, and this time Gordon came in, carrying a sheaf of papers. He looked around, and seeing only Scott at the table. Let out a disgusted breath. "Where is everybody?"

"I'm here, what more could you want?"

Scott's ginger haired brother gave him a look. "I need Brains. Or Dad. Where are they?"

Scott shrugged his shoulders in answer and with a grunt of disgust, Gordon turned to leave.

"Gordon Tracy, you come back here and sit down. I am not running a restaurant here. I've got other things to do than just wait around until you decide you want something to eat. It's breakfast time now, and if you don't eat now, you'll get nothing until lunch."

Frowning at the interruption of whatever it was he was after, Gordon nonetheless dutifully moved to the table. Spotting the cinnamon rolls, he licked his lips, suddenly more amenable to eating. "I'm sorry Grandma. I had something on my mind. Can I have my eggs scrambled instead of over easy, please?"

Mollified, Grandma turned back to the stove as she replied, "Of course, baby."

Scott sat back and looked at his brother. "What do you need Brains for?"

Gordon looked up, a slightly crazed gleam in his eye. "NIMR's done it. They've test flown a flying submarine. According to the report, it's going to be deployed by the end of the year."

Scott furrowed his brow. He was pretty sure if he asked Gordon what the hell NIMR was, his brother would explode. There were a whole calvalcade of marine companies that Gordon followed the way most people followed baseball scores. Scott could never quite keep them apart. Not remembering anything about this particular company, he bit the bullet and asked, "Uh, NIMR?"

Sure enough, Gordon looked at him as if he'd sprouted cauliflower from his ears. "NIMR, Scott. The Nelson Institute of Marine Reseach."

Scott winced a bit. Nelson he knew. The whole family knew about Admiral Harriman Nelson, Gordon's hero. The man was legendary throughout the world's submarine community. After a career in the American navy, Nelson had started his own Marine Institute, complete with an advanced submarine called the Seaview. Gordon could quote the highlights of the Great Man's career from memory. "Oh. That NIMR."

"Yes, that NIMR. They've designed a flying sub. I've been asking Brains to design me a flying sub for years."

"Are those the specs? Let me see." Scott demanded, his interest peaked. Gordon handed over a couple of pieces of paper.

Scott looked them over, frowning slightly. The papers were news releases with pretty sketchy information. The attached photo showed a round disk-like object. "Kinda ugly," he commented.

"Ugly? What are you talking about? It's beautiful. Look at how Admiral Nelson used a manta ray as his inspiration. You look at her and know she'd be at home in the sea.

After a moment, Scott rolled his eyes, and asked, "Gordon, what do you want this for?"

"What do you mean, what do I want it for? I want it to replace Thunderbird Four. Just think about it, Scott. If I had a sub that could fly, I wouldn't need to be carried to the danger zone in Thunderbird Two."

"Exactly how fast is this thing?"

"She can do 700 knots."

Scott was astounded, but restated his question. "No, I mean how fast is it in the air?"

"I told you, 700 knots."

That stopped Scott in his tracks. "Well then, how fast is it in the water?"

Gordon squirmed a bit. "65 knots."

Scott sat back and stared at his brother. "65 knots. Gordon, Thunderbird Four does 70. And 700 knots in the air is barely faster than mach 1. That's nowhere near fast enough to get you to rescues in time."

"Well, I didn't say we'd take that flying sub. Obviously, Admiral Nelson designed her for research applications, not rescue applications. We'll need to upgrade it, sure, but the basic design work's been done. We just need to fix it."

As Gordon spoke with intense sincerity, the kitchen door behind him had opened, and Virgil had started to enter. Hearing his brother, he had stopped, and very quietly backed up, and just as quietly closed the door.

Scott was beginning to think he should have seen the signs and headed for the hills too. Gordon was a good man in a rescue, but when he got an idea like this, he was like a dog with a bone. And when you threw in the fact that his personal hero had designed the original, he was going to be hell-on-wheels until he got what he wanted.

Deciding to go with the flow, he said, "Well, if Brains can figure out a way to upgrade it, and Dad is willing to cover the expense, I've got no objection."

Gordon's eyes lit up like he'd just received the best of Christmas presents. He looked quickly around as if he expected either Dad or Brains to materialize. Excited beyond the ability to sit quietly, Gordon jumped up, and took off, saying, "I gotta find Brains."

"Gordon, you come… TSK, Scott Tracy, you did that on purpose." Grandma pointed her wooden spoon at her eldest grandson.

Scott didn't even try to look innocent. As his father and Virgil snuck quietly into the kitchen, he smirked and said, "Grandma, it's like they say. All is fair in love, war, and brothers."

The End.


End file.
